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Brittany Hall Nov 2018
I'm just a lamp.
You're just a bulb.
I give you power.
You give me light.
I stand tall and strong, waiting to be used.
You roll around, fragile, easily breakable.
Together we ignite something beautiful, that makes the world a little brighter.
It's nothing magic, just how we were wired.
One day I will fall, my intricate shade will crack.
My solid base absorbs the shock, so you remain intact.
Turned loose from me, you're ******* back into the old lamp from the closet.
Amazing, it still lights up, covered in dust and cobwebs.
A little warmer, yet a little more dim.
The only problem now, is that lingering scent, of burning dust and cobwebs.
You used me, but I understand.
NeroameeAlucard May 2018
I'm not one for recreating my mistakes repeating yourself is for the birds like  hitchcock or however that old saying goes
To show that maybe this can be done right
This time, and as i plotted this rhyme out
Like Dr. Doom in comic books i grew shook like Havoc on that classic queensbridge beat
As i sat and thought, what could this mean?
Has that cloud of cynicism left and overpowered my lyricism I'm not much of a wordsmith to begin with but sxxt if this is what it takes to make what could've been great
Then around the corner I'll bend if it means we can try again...
A return to form i presume...
MC Escano May 2018
Many days without a muse, whatever shall I do?
Too long away from heart and sans a point of view
The sunrise has been glorious as the sunset strikes me numb.
Not mourning our final screams into censorship
And strike a chord that gives a voice to verses now in me.

I close my eyes and see much more than sight can ever see.
Colors swirl behind my lids and rainbows, vividly.
Butterflies, a ship of clouds glides by
Howling in the wilderness breaking through the sky
Hanging like a scimitar suspended in the sky,
As mind is far more visual into an endless four walls still sight.

Whispering blues, the height within
A troublesome mind, trampling songs from afar
Struggling to breathe, I lie waiting not to.
Thoughts are embedded tightly in a jar
To endless voices mock me; crush, break me
But I refuse to listen a strength rises
Something I wouldn't have believed
And now I was ready to fight those dementia.
I knew I wasn't alone.

If I could love the limping ugly afraid part of me
That I drag through the mud and thorns
If I could let the transparent clawing, screaming silhouette speak
Instead of kicking it into the utmost peak
If I could put my deepest human essence onto paper for everyone to see

Then.
Then, let these new visions be free.
I don't know what I make. and I know that I'm a bad writer with these scrambled thoughts. Forgive me. :(
Sabila Siddiqui Feb 2018
A masterpiece of intricate mosaic
A beauty underlied with chaos
She lets them see,
What she wants them to see.
Gabriel burnS Oct 2017
So much color and
So little light
The trees are jewels
Veiled by the sky
lex Aug 2017
when you tell me
you love me
i don't know what to say
because with something as intricate
as those three words
i don't know what to do
without breaking you.
i say nothing when i want to say everything to you
Swasti Jain Feb 2017
" Poltroon " she cried,

While her knuckles were white with rage.
Perturbed,  she was while her father passed away.

Solitude, she chose while earthlings left her dejected, like a stray.

Erratic, were those times when she decided to unravel the intricate stories of life and not get bewrayed.

Lost, she was in the absolute beauty of the cosmos waiting for someone at the bay.

Soon, she realized that a lifeboat would never come her way.

" You're a stalwart , get up and find your own way ".

Much did she know, rest she deciphered.

And found herself flying in the sky of aplomb,  like a mockinjay!

                                        - Swasti Jain
Lucrezia M N Jun 2016
How is it? That leaves
over another night
are not to last,
but to survive the frost,
and the traffic lights flood,
of slow and fast temper,
Is the closest to fuel
the red-blooded marrow breathes.
To be continued... or better, the other things I have to say, that at first I wanted to put in one write, need a little longer incubation...
Nick Moser Feb 2016
You used to tell me “The way you’re living is bad.”
“The way you’re living is terrible.”

You used to point out every little intricate mistake that I was making and every little small detail of my life that ****** you off.

But when I asked you “What I could do to change everything?”

You kept spewing your garbage at me.
So all I did was look at you and say:

“When are you going to realize that you have nothing left to say that I want to hear?”

*“And sooner or later, you’re going to have nothing left to say at all.”
Pipebomb.
Our souls are patterns
Intricately  woven  and  styled
Uni­que in their colour  blends and hues
Each  soul telling it's incredible tale
In the sharp  curves  and  soft  dips
Imprinted­ on their thin  vibrant  canvas.

Carefully  detailed  without a stroke amiss
These delicate fabricated masterpieces
Could  rip in hands too  careless to admire
The aesthetic beauty of the canvas
In areas magnificently  simple  or  blank.
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